


Pillar of Salt

by Unknown_Kadath



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Pete's World, Post Episode: s04e13 Journey's End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown_Kadath/pseuds/Unknown_Kadath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a beach in Norway, Rose Tyler made a choice. Now she’s wondering if she made a mistake—and where she can go from here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fixed Abodes

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to other archives several years ago.
> 
>  
> 
> Original Notes:
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I even stole the other egg of the phoenix from Neil Gaiman. Oh … and if you can't tell, I had Dan Auerbach's "Whispered Words" stuck in my head the entire time I was writing this. Go and have a listen. Well go on, it's on YouTube ...

**Part I: Fixed Abodes**

_I hear words, pretty lies_

_Like the words they tell you 'fore you die._

"Whispered Words," by Dan Auerbach

**Prologue: Then—Time And Tide**

She stood on a beach at the end of the world, with the water halfway up her calves and the bright sun blinding her through her tears, staring at nothing.

He was gone. She'd let go, and he'd left her. It was over.

It had hit her, then, what she'd done, and she hadn't been able to face him—other him, whatever. She couldn't face any of it. So she'd turned and shucked off her boots and walked out into the water.

It was freezing cold, but that was good. That was a distraction, like ice numbing a wound.

She could feel the gap in the world closing up, still closing, smaller and smaller. Now it was too small for a ship to pass through, too small for a person. No going back. Closing in around her like a cage, trapping her.

Part of her wanted to keep walking, just plunge out into the water until it closed over her head and blotted out the sun. Disappear into her own personal Darkness. But the cold stopped her, brought her back to herself. Or maybe it was that she was frozen, unable to move.

No way out that way. No way out, period. She'd been running since she was nineteen, and now she'd reached the end. No where left to run.

She put her hands over her face, unable to look at the world.

A small sound of pain penetrated her confusion. She became aware that there was someone else with her. The … other Doctor.

"M'sorry," she managed. She'd been so upset she'd just run off and left the poor man standing there. Apparently he'd followed her out into the waves. And here she was ignoring him. She hadn't meant to do that.

Come on, Rose. Pull yourself together.

She wiped away her tears and turned to face him. She was having trouble meeting his eyes. They were too much like … his. And bleak, bleak as the windswept sand, full of silent pain.

Cos he was trapped here, too, wasn't he?

It was that thought that finally unfroze her. She couldn't care about herself, not yet, she couldn't make any sense of this mess in her head, but the man next to her (whoever he was, but that wasn't the important thing at the moment) needed her. She needed to start moving, if only physically, and carry on for his sake.

"It's a long walk to town," she said. Maybe not what he needed to hear, but it was the best she could do. "I … I wanna get going, yeah?"

She turned and started to walk away. It was easier to breathe, now, now that she had some direction.

She could still see the faint impression of where the TARDIS had stood on the sand, but it was already blurred and softened by the water, and the tide was coming in.

**1\. Now—The Stranger**

Pete was waiting for them when they arrived. "Perfect timing," he said, like she was just getting in late from work. "I only just managed to get off the phone with Torchwood. They're in a bit of a state."

He looked somehow older than Rose remembered, like she hadn't seen him just this morning. This morning for him, that was. But it seemed his red hair was a touch thinner, with a few more hints of gray, and there were lines on his face she couldn't recall. Maybe it was her memory playing tricks on her. For Rose, it had been a long time since she'd said goodbye to her father.

Said goodbye for the last time.

Then he gave up the casual act, and held out his arms to his daughter. "How are you, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

She went to him and hugged him, hard, hugged him for all the weeks and months she'd been away, hugged him for the lifetime apart she'd been expecting. "Daddy."

They released each other far too soon, and then it was Jackie's turn, babbling a mile a minute about Daleks and explosions and death rays and clones (not to mention bloody cold beaches in bloody Norway, of all places …) and by the way Tony was in bed, wasn't he? It was getting on past eleven …

The three of them huddled together in the oppressively wide space of the mansion's front hall, trying to reassure themselves by touch that they were all really there. Hard to believe they were all home, safe, everything normal, when the last time they'd been together the world was ending in darkness and Rose was departing on a mission she'd never return from even if she survived.

Rose could have stayed that way for hours, but Pete turned back to their … guest. A skinny man in a singed blue suit, hanging back by the door, hands shoved in his pockets. It had once struck Rose that he looked a bit like Harry Potter, but not any more. He looked distant, remote. A little dangerous, and trying to pretend he wasn't.

A stranger, left behind in a little island of loneliness while everyone else went home.

Pete held out his hand from within the circle of his family, slowly, as if afraid of spooking the man. He spoke the way one might speak to an Alzheimer's patient, trying to sound normal while wondering how many of his words would be understood. "Hello. I'm Pete Tyler."

A brief flash of annoyance passed over the stranger's face. "I remember," he said. "I'm the Doctor, after all."

"He remembers everything, Dad," said Rose, hastily. She needed both of them, needed them to get along.

"Ah," said Pete. "I'm a little confused about what's been happening …" Here he glanced uncertainly at Jackie. "But I understand you're going to be staying with us."

For a moment the man in the blue suit stood gazing at the little family as if across an impassible gap. Then he gave a warm smile (only Rose knew his face well enough to spot the slight tightness around his mouth, and knew that it was forced) and took Pete's hand in a solid handshake. "If you'll have me."

Pete looked between his wife and daughter with some amusement. "As if I'm the one in charge around here."

**2\. Then—Interesting Times**

He'd asked her, at the airport, if they were taking a taxi home, and seemed mildly surprised when she'd said no. He was even more surprised when he'd seen the official Torchwood van.

"I thought it was supposed to be, y'know, secret. That thing's got the name all over it. It's got it in great big yellow letters all over the bloomin' roof!"

"Torchwood's been public now for years," Rose told him. "Lot of the work's still classified, though. Hello, Bruce."

"Ma'am," said the driver, giving her a respectful nod. He was dressed in the full black uniform, gun holstered on his hip, and Rose knew he had a plasma rifle in the van. "Mrs. Tyler." He gave Jackie a rather different sort of respectful nod. There was a bit more wariness in it. Jackie Tyler had something of a reputation.

"Hello, dear," said Jackie. "Now come on, you two, it's starting to rain."

The doctor was looking at Bruce's gun. Bruce was looking at … the doctor.

Rose couldn't quite think of him as the Doctor. Not the man she knew, just a shadow of him. A man who called himself a doctor, like any man with with the degree might do. Except he didn't have any other name to append to it, nothing to call his own. A lowercase personality.

"I'm the Doctor," said the doctor.

"Bruce Hammond," said Bruce, warily.

Rose wondered what he'd been told. "Come on," she repeated after her mother, and tugged the doctor's hand. "She's right, it is rainin'."

"D'you need a guard?" he asked.

"I'm a Torchwood agent, and I'm the daughter of a billionaire and the head of the Torchwood Committee. It's a precaution. Anyway," she glanced up at the night sky, knowing that no stars shone behind the clouds, "we've been having … interesting times."

"So I've gathered. Is that …"

He squinted out the window as they pulled away from the airport, not quite believing what he saw through the gloom and the rain.

"A half a Dalek bein' used as a planter?" said Jackie. "Yeah. They was all over, this past spring."

"It's a memorial," explained Rose. "To the people who died in the invasion. But it's all over now. All got cleared up months ago."

The doctor shifted his gaze away from the damaged buildings and empty streets outside, looking at Rose instead. "All over," he repeated.

He didn't say anything about the security at the mansion, the reinforced gates or the armed guards. Rose let Jackie do the talking, explaining who he was, and that he was going to be staying. No one quite dared to argue with her.

**3\. Now—Welcome Home**

Pete had a nasty habit of serving Vitex to guests he didn't want returning. Rose was relieved to find that not only had he put on a kettle of tea in anticipation of their arrival, he'd brought out a plate of sandwiches Mrs. Barnes must have made up earlier. Jackie and Rose declined the sandwiches, but the doctor accepted, gratefully; in fact, he seemed ready to inhale anything set in front of him. "I'm starving," he said. "Really, really long day."

Rose touched his shoulder lightly. "Take it easy, yeah?" she murmured. "Don't go makin' yourself sick."

He glared at her. "I am not," he informed her around a mouthful of pastrami and rye, "going to make myself sick. I'm a flippin' Time Lord."

"Half Time Lord," she corrected.

Jackie was trying, once again, to explain things to Pete. Probably doing more harm than good. Rose the dog was hiding under Jackie's chair and growling. Rose herself was content just to sit there on the saggy old sofa in front of the fire, with her mother and father and doctor, part of a family. Something she'd thought she was going to lose.

She never thought she'd sit on this sofa again.

"So there's two of him?" Pete asked, looking slightly daunted at the prospect, and more than a little skeptical.

"That's right," said the doctor. He downed the last bite of sandwich and dusted crumbs from his fingers. Rose had been too busy relaxing with her tea to count the exact number of sandwiches that had been on the plate to begin with, but despite her concerns the metacrisis seemed to have inherited the Doctor's cast-iron stomach. "But only one of me in this universe."

"Well, I can see you're going to have a lot to tell us at the debriefing," Pete told Rose. She was grateful that he didn't ask her anything more then and there. In fact, he was using his brisk wrapping-up-the-meeting voice. "You're due at Torchwood tomorrow, nine o'clock sharp."

Rose groaned. Not loudly. She didn't have the energy.

"Sorry," said Pete. "Best I could do. They wanted to see you tonight, but I figured you needed a decent night's sleep before the debriefing."

"A week's would be better," she grumbled. "What's the hurry? It's all over, isn't it?"

"The Daleks may have been stopped at the source, but that won't make much impression on the top brass," said Pete. "That's another world. It's not real to them. Can't blame them, I suppose—if I hadn't seen it myself ..."

He looked between Rose and Jackie, the unspoken thought clear in his face. If it hadn't been for them.

"Anyway, there's still the Darkness to be dealt with," he concluded. "Until that happens, I doubt anyone at Torchwood will be getting much rest."

"Oh, that'll clear up on its own," said the doctor. "Surprised it hasn't already, really. But now the Reality Bomb was never detonated, all of that's over. Er … how long's it been since it started, anyway?"

"Three years," said Rose. "Started about a year after I got here." Got stuck here.

"Blimey, three years." The doctor scratched the back of his neck. "Let's see, Rassilon's Law of Temporal Divergence ..." He began muttering equations under his breath, mostly in languages Rose didn't recognize. Then he shook his head. "No, sorry, never was very good at paradoxical higher-dimensional math. I'd need to take some readings, see how fast the timeline is repairing itself before I could tell you when the stars will come back."

Pete nodded. Rose couldn't tell if he believed it or not. "That would be your department, Rose."

"What about …" She looked at the doctor, who turned to look at Pete.

"Ah, yes," said Pete. He cleared his throat, as one trying to tactfully broach a difficult subject. "Torchwood will get you paperwork and ID. Now, are you … biologically human?"

"No," said the doctor firmly. "This body is part human. Bit less than half, I'd say, but it's a little hard to quantify."

"That'll complicate the paperwork," said Pete. "This world has not had good experiences with aliens lately. And the Darkness isn't helping matters any. It might take longer than you like to get everything in order. Don't worry," he held up a hand to forestall Rose, "I'll sort it. Meanwhile, er, Doctor, it's best if you lay low and stick close to home. Be careful what you say and who you say it to, that sort of thing."

The doctor nodded.

"The rest of the Torchwood Committee would like to talk to you, as well," Pete went on. "They've heard a lot about you. I'm sure we could find a place for you as a consultant."

"A job?" asked the doctor, wrinkling his nose slightly in consternation. "Me?"

"Yeah, a job," snickered Rose. "Can't be having a slacker boyfriend, can I?"

He flopped back into his seat. "Oh, all right. I suppose I could be an unpaid scientific advisor, did that before. No, WAIT!" he shouted, almost startling the others into spilling their tea. "Can I be a  _paid_  scientific advisor? That would be even better!"

"I'm on the Torchwood Oversight Committee," said Pete dryly. "I'll see what I can do about making sure we pay our employees."

"And I'll need a lab and some equipment," the doctor added. "And—" He paused and turned to Rose. "Boyfriend?"

If she hadn't been so tired, she probably would have thought better of saying it to begin with. But he didn't seem terribly bothered. So she hid her smile behind her tea and raised her eyebrows at him, as if to say,  _Do you object to that?_  Daring him to do so.

He replied with a  _Who, me? Not me!_  look, and a small, pleased smile.

That was another difference.

Pete finished his tea and set the cup down in the saucer with a decisive  _clunk,_  interrupting Rose's guilt at that thought. He stood up. "Well, I think it's time we said goodnight. We've all got to get up early tomorrow. Doctor." He hesitated slightly before he used the name, but it seemed only because he had almost used a more familiar word. Perhaps "son." The doctor, evidently realizing this, responded with a small, genuine smile as Pete shook his hand again. "Rose will get you settled in one of the guest bedrooms."

The inflection of that last sentence and an eyebrow raised in her direction made it more of a question—and an unspoken approval of whatever sleeping arrangements she chose.

Rose nodded and collected a hug and kiss goodnight from each of her parents. Jackie hugged the doctor, who didn't seem quite as appalled by it as the original would have been.

"Welcome home, love," she murmured, and followed Pete out of the room. The dog bolted from under the chair and scurried at her heels.

Rose saw the doctor mouth a word to himself.

_Home._

**To Be Continued**


	2. Sealed With a Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to repost this at a rate of one chapter a week ... uh, sorry. Real life got pretty hectic for a few days.
> 
> And looking at the original notes ... I see I've forgotten to credit the betas AGAIN. Sorry, sorry ...
> 
> Original note for this chapter: Oh, and I (unforgivably) forgot to add to the first chapter-- Thanks to my lovely betas: tardis-mole, my alarmingly thorough nit-picky beta, Mornea, my philosophical beta, and ChellusAuglerie, my wildly overenthusiastic beta/devil on my shoulder egging me on.

**Part II: Sealed With a Kiss**

_Whispered words, soft and low_

_Push me anywhere you want to go_

Dan Auerbach, "Whispered Words"

**4\. Then—She Held His Hand**

Home.

She couldn't believe she was going home. After all her goodbyes. All the wrong goodbyes, said to people she was going to see for the rest of her life, and all the people she'd thought she'd see again gone forever. And the TARDIS. Never see that again (and don't think about who's gone with it, don't think about him whatever you do) because she was going back home.

Home? Wasn't the TARDIS her home?

She couldn't take it in. Couldn't take any of it in. So she just trudged along, and held his hand.

It was nearly an hour's walk to the nearest town, and they were all already tired. Rose supposed they could have called a cab—there was a passable road, and she and Jackie had their phones. But they needed this time before they faced the world again.

The world was saved, all the worlds were saved, she was back, Mickey was gone, the Doctor was gone—again.

And the Doctor was here.

And gone.

Try getting your head around that one.

"I've got to call Pete," said Jackie. She dropped back behind them a little way, pulling out her phone and dialing as she walked. Rose half-regretted that, not entirely sure she wanted to be alone with this … Doctor, or metacrisis, or whoever he was. Not yet.

"Do you have to call and make a report or somethin'?" he asked Rose.

"No. Well, maybe I should, but they can wait. Dad's on the Torchwood committee, he'll let them know." At the moment, she was finding it hard to care.

"Oh, good," said the … Doctor. He fell silent again, concentrating on walking.

All those years missing him. Now she had him back (sort of), after all hope was lost, and she couldn't think of a thing to say. So she walked in silence, letting the cool salt breeze and warm sun and sound of water wash away her thoughts.

She squeezed his hand gently. She'd held his hand so many times, the feel of it was almost more familiar than her own. Strong, slender fingers, dry and alien-cool. Even after years apart, she remembered, and when she'd found him again (was it only today?) it was like no time had passed. Everything the same.

Except now his hand was warm, human-warm or close to it, the unfamiliar heat of human blood coursing through the once-cool flesh. The stigma of mortality. It seemed almost like a fever to her, a strange, dangerous fire that had arisen deep within his body, and she felt a little shiver of fear for him chill her spine.

She looked up at his face, half-expecting to see some sign of illness, or at least a flush from that heat, and was startled all over again by the fact of his presence; the Doctor. A slim, youthful-looking man (but not quite as youthful as she remembered), with wild brown hair (really great hair) falling all over his forehead. He had one of those animated faces, whose features are less important than their expressions and the personality behind them. Not that he had a forgettable face, quite the opposite, but it was his hearts and soul she had fallen in love with. (Oh, all right—and maybe the hair. Ooh, those sideburns …) But mostly it was just … him. After all, he'd had other faces.

Heart, now.

Was that enough?

The suit wasn't right. It was the wrong color, for one thing, blue when it should have been brown, and he was wearing the jacket over a t-shirt. The Doctor's clothes were so much a habit that they seemed almost an extension of his body, like his hair or the color of his eyes. Her Doctor (as she was trying, and failing, not to think of the original) would have looked subtly wrong in the tee. This one, for some reason, looked … right. It made him seem younger, somehow, though his face was older.

He was looking out at the water with an unreadable expression, dark eyes thoughtful. Brooding. Then he saw her looking at him, and his mouth moved in that familiar smile—first one corner pulling up, making a dimple, and then breaking into a big, bright grin after a brief struggle, like he just couldn't help himself. His eyes sparkled. The bright sun lit his face with startling clarity, down to the freckles and the laugh-lines around his eyes.

She couldn't see him as a killer. He looked so normal, so much himself, that Rose couldn't help but smile back. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted it with all her heart, but a million little reasons in her head held her back. Part of her wished she'd never kissed him to begin with, because then maybe—

No. Don't think about that.

Half an hour ago, a man with that exact same face had turned and walked away, just left her standing there. Forever.

Never even said goodbye.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing," she told him, though she knew it didn't fool him. But he didn't pursue it.

And she was all right, really. She was holding together. She just felt a bit empty. Like it wasn't quite real. Even the brightness of the day only lent everything a more surreal quality, like a dream.

A quirk of the wind brought Jackie's voice to them.

"No, honestly, I saw them with my own eyes. Yes, two of him."

She was bustling along over the sand behind them at a discrete (as if she knew the meaning of the word) distance, head down against the wind, one hand combing tendrils of blond hair from her face.

"Oh, I don't understand it, sprouted up out of a chopped-off hand. Like a starfish or somethin' … Well, Rose's bringing one of them home with her, you can see for yourself. No, they're a bit different, ours has only got one heart … What do you mean, how long's he staying? Well we're stuck with him, ain't we?  _You_  can try and talk Rose into getting rid of him if you like, God knows I tried with the first one and it never did me any good …"

The wind shifted, carrying her words away again.

"Oh," said the … Doctor, wincing in dismay. "Um. Blimey. I feel like a stray dog."

He sounded younger, too. Rose wedged her boots under her arm and put her free hand over his for a moment, in a gesture of possession. "Not any more. You've been adopted."

"Yeah, not helping, Rose. Still feel like a dog. So, d'you still live with them, then?"

"Yeah. And so do you, now." The … Doctor made a face but he seemed pleased, whether at her family's acceptance of him or just out of relief at having a place to stay, she wasn't sure. "Cheer up," she added. "Least you don't have to get a mortgage."

She realized, after she said it, that it was a sort of test. It wasn't really fair to him, she knew, but she wanted to see if he remembered.

All he said was, "Mhm," and blew out his breath in a noisy gust. She didn't know if it was because he didn't remember, or because he didn't like the idea of being stuck in one place any more than the original Doctor had. And how stupid was she for bringing it up …

She tried to shift the conversation to a lighter note. It came out a bit awkwardly. "Speaking of dogs … guess who else is living with us?"

He looked at her, his eyes widening. "You don't mean—"

"Yep." She didn't finish his sentence for him. Part of her just had to know if he could do it himself.

"Rose?" he said. "Rose the wee lil' dog?"

Rose the human rolled her eyes. "Yeah. That's the one."

"You have  _got_  to be kiddin' me!" he yelled, laughing. There was something a bit off about his voice. Like his accent had slipped some miles from where it had started out. Or was that her imagination? "Whatcha keep that flippin' dog for?"

"Well, it wasn't the dog's fault, was it?" said Rose, a little annoyed. She didn't think it was that funny, and she was beginning to regret bringing it up at all. But if he was coming home with them, he'd find out soon enough anyway. "Dad held onto her after his Jackie died. Even wi' Mum here, he didn't want to let her go …" And boy, could she sympathize with that feeling now. "An' now, she thinks Mum's, well, her mum. Pines after her whenever they're apart …"

He gave up and let out a loud peal of laughter that made Rose jump. This time she was pretty sure her memory wasn't playing tricks on her. Almost sure. There was something different about that laugh.

She waited until he'd gotten himself more or less under control before she finished, "So it'd be cruel to get rid of her. An' she's fifteen now—we figured, we'll let her live out her life in peace."

"Did—did you change her name?" the he wheezed.

Rose frowned. "Tried to. But she won't answer to anything but Rose."

He looked at her helplessly for a moment. Then he doubled over, howling.

"Shut up, shut up," she said, though he was setting her off now. She smacked him (carefully) on the arm, giggling. "It ain't funny."

He only laughed harder, staggering sideways and losing his balance. She grabbed his arm and he grabbed hers, trying to right himself, and only succeeding in taking them both down onto the sand, laughing harder than ever.

Maybe there was a slight edge of hysteria to their laughter, but it still felt good.

Rose had just gotten herself under control enough to stagger to her feet and was helping the him to his when Jackie, catching them up, went chattering past. "That sound? They're laughin' their bloody heads off over something, rollin' around on the ground. Well I don't know what, you can ask her when we get home. I'm sure you'll understand better than I will, she gets her sense of humor from your side of the family, she must do. Oi, what's that supposed to mean? Oh, charming …"

And on she went, barely sparing them a glance. Rose and the … Doctor looked at each other, and promptly collapsed again.

This time, he recovered first, heaving himself to his feet despite his lingering giggles and offering her his hand. She took it, but pushed off the ground rather than letting him take any of her weight. He was still out of breath, which wasn't right for him. Or wasn't right for a Time Lord, anyway. She found herself instinctively treating him with care, like he'd suddenly become an invalid. Like he'd lost something.

Well, he had, hadn't he?

Only human now.

**5\. Now—Really Great Hair**

The doctor set his tea down (it happened to be in the cup that had the tiny chip out of the base, and Rose found herself thinking that she'd never thought she'd see that cup again—and God, what was she thinking?) and ambled around the room. It was the family's private den, with few of the expensive touches of the rest of the house, a bit shabby. It had a homey sort of smell; rose potpourri trying to discretely cover elderly dog. He stared at the walls and furniture, the small fireplace and the beat-up couch, the picture of Aunt Jane Rose thought she'd never see again ( _knock that off right now_ ).

"Home," he said aloud, tasting the word, trying it out. "This is my … home?" He stopped and turned to look at her with a lost look in his eyes that made her heart ache.

"Yeah." She went to him and took his hand. "Long as you want to stay."

"Five years till the new girl's ready," he replied. "Give or take." He patted the pocket where the little piece of TARDIS-coral resided. "Unless I annoy your mum and get kicked out." He looked around the room again, this time with a speculative glint in his eye that Rose didn't like. "Or blow the place up …"

"Oi!" Rose poked him in the chest. "Don't you dare!"

"All right, all right!" he said, grinning. "Do my best."

"You'd better."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he raised a dubious eyebrow. "Boyfriend?" he asked again. "I don't know. There's got to be a better word than that. I'm a man, not a boy. I ain't been a boy since—well, there was this one transporter accident century or two ago—"

"Significant other?" offered Rose. She wouldn't have said that to the Doctor. Well, she wouldn't have said it to the Doctor when she was nineteen. He'd always shied away from that sort of talk and she hadn't quite dared to press the issue. But that was then, and this was now. Different doctor, different Rose. And she was tired, so bloody tired of things that couldn't be said.

"Oh, that's awful," said the doctor, making a disgusted face. "Doublespeak. Like somethin' outta  _1984._  Brilliant book, ever tell you I met ol' George?"

"Companion?" said Rose. He was talking out of nerves, she realized—always had babbled when he was nervous, and it annoyed her that he was doing it now, with her. Like she was the one who'd changed.

"'I'm Rose Tyler, and this is my companion, the Doctor?'" he tried, and made another face. "No, sorry, don't think so. Don't know why you put up wi' it all that time, to be honest …"

"Lab assistant, then. You're gonna be working with me, after all, and I could use somebody to pass me my test tubes."

He just looked at her. "Let's stick with 'boyfriend' for now, yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed. It would take some getting used to, hearing him talk about being her boyfriend, but she thought she could manage.

He looked set to continue his restless circuit of the room, but she got up and planted herself in his path, putting her hands on his shoulders to hold him in place. When he was still, she cautiously reached up and touched his cheek. It was something she didn't think the Doctor would have let her do. They could hold hands, they could hug, but the slightest hint of something more intimate and he pulled away. Shut down on her, or went all distant, or changed the subject.

Not this doctor. He stood there, passive, watching her and waiting to see what she would do next. There were no barriers behind his eyes, just a soft, open look. Accepting. She both liked it and disliked it. It made his face look … empty.

The skin of his face was lukewarm. It felt somehow more fragile than she remembered, both slightly coarser and thinner, and marked with traces of soot and small red burns. She explored the familiar features, running her fingertips over the fine net of lines at the corners of his eyes, the dusting of freckles over his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw. And sideburns. Loved the sideburns …

She could smell the smoke on his clothes, and underneath that the old, familiar scent of the Doctor. A sweet, woodsy smell, like sandalwood, at once very alien and very reassuring.

"You look older," she told him. "You both did."

"So do you," he said. His voice was low and soft. "You've grown up. You look very beautiful."

The earnestness with which he spoke brought a lump to her throat. "I probably look a mess," she said. "You look … you look good. Tired, though."

"Long day." He seemed to be content to stand there with her, enjoying her touch, more relaxed than she'd seen him yet.

"There's something I've always wanted to do," she told him. "I never quite dared before." But this was a new doctor, and, as he'd pointed out, she wasn't a child any more. And she was tired of hesitating, tired of all those … reasons.

He raised an eyebrow, and now there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. It almost reassured her. "What?"

She didn't answer, just reached up, slowly, so as not to startle him, and touched his hair. Some interesting expressions crossed his face, but he didn't pull away, so she kept going, running her fingers through it, feeling the smooth, thick texture. The same style, more or less; he'd taken it a bit further, shorter on the sides and in back, longer on top. More punk. It felt slightly coarser than she remembered. But then, that was years ago, and time played tricks on your memory.

After a moment, he did pull back a fraction. She dropped her hands to his shoulders. "You wanted me to comb my hair?" he asked dubiously. "You might of just said somethin'."

"No, silly," she smiled. "I just wanted to touch it. Here, I've got ya all rumpled …"

She reached up to pat his hair into something approaching its more usual disarray, and he ducked his head to make it easier. "And all this time I thought you wanted me for my mind," he sighed. "I didn't realized I was travellin' with a bloomin' hair fetishist. What're you gonna do if I go bald, hm?"

The "hm?" came out with that comedic inquisitive look she remembered, raised eyebrows and pop eyes and lower lip sucked in against his teeth. It made her laugh, despite herself.

"Can't leave you, can I?" she teased. "Even if you do go bald. You're the one with the coral."

"Ohhh, now we're getting to it.  _That's_  why you stuck with me all those years."

"Yeah, it ain't you, it's your car …"

Their faces were very close together now, and the scent of sandalwood hung about her like a gauzy veil of memory, making the world seem distant except for him. And if his eyes weren't as bright as she remembered, they were bright enough, warm with affection and humor.

Well, at least one thing was different. This doctor might only have one heart, but it seemed he was better able to give it away.

She closed the last few inches between them, and he returned her kisses willingly.

Hers, now.

**6\. Then—Hers**

She was holding his hand again when they disembarked the zeppelin. "Almost home," she muttered as they shuffled through the crowds, trying to reassure herself even more than him. The people seemed to crush in around her, sucking away her air, even though the airport was less crowded than usual. Since the Darkness came, unnecessary travel had been discouraged.

The doctor held on tightly, threatening to cramp her fingers.

All those months of travel. She wasn't sure if it felt more like forever or like a night's bad dream she was just waking up from, soon to fade.

She heard a squeal of recognition. "It's them, isn't it? It's the Tylers!"

A cameraphone flashed from a knot of other recently arrived passengers.

"Oh, there they go again," said Jackie, trying to surreptitiously pat her hair into some semblance of order. She didn't sound half as annoyed as she was evidently trying to.

"Sorry," Rose told the doctor. "It happens. Prob'ly end up in the tabloids by morning, with all sorts of wild rumors about the handsome stranger holdin' my hand."

"Oh." He frowned. "Hadn't thought about that. Not sure I want to be famous."

"Too late now. But I'm worth it, ain't I?" She gave him a sly smile. "C'mon, say I am."

"Yes, you are," he said, grinning back. "You're very worth it. Handsome?"

"Yeah." A sudden spirit of mischief possessed her. "Since they're gonna talk anyway …"

His mouth quirked and he raised an eyebrow, game for anything.

She stretched up and kissed him lightly, just a brush of her lips against his, but lingering long enough for sluggish amateur photographers. She half expected him to pull away, still not used to being able to touch him like this, but he only smiled and bent his head to meet her half way.

Now everyone would know. It was a very public gesture of commitment—telling the world that this man was hers, and she was his. More importantly, telling him. And herself.

Even if he wasn't the same as her Doctor, he was her doctor now. She had made her choice, right or wrong, and she would stand by it.

" _Now_  you'll be in the papers," said Jackie tartly, but she was smiling, and she stood with her back very straight, radiating maternal pride in her family.

**7\. Now—How Does It Feel?**

She kissed him, standing in front of her parents' fireplace—her fireplace, too, she realized—savoring the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his breath, wrapped up in the scent of sandalwood and the rose potpourri. Trying to get used to the single pulse thrumming away beneath his ribs, to the fact that she  _could_  kiss him now, that she wasn't about to wake up and find herself alone in a strange universe.

She was glad, now, that she'd never kissed the Doctor properly. Only when she was possessed, or dying, and too far out of her mind to remember it afterward. She didn't want to remember that, didn't want to wonder if anything had changed—or, worse, to know it had.

She didn't want to have to forget.

It was over far too soon. He didn't push her away, just raised his head from hers and leaned back a little away from her, but leaving his arms wrapped loosely around her. She slid her hands down from his shoulders to rest against his chest.

She didn't want to stop touching him. Like if she just held on to this doctor long enough, she could reach the real Doctor. Find the original man inside the copied body.

"What's it feel like?" she asked.

"Kissing you?" he said, with a mischievous smile. "Brilliant, of course."

"Being human," she corrected.

"Oi. Part human."

"Okay, part. What's it feel like?"

"Ohh …" He stepped back from her a bit more and shifted his shoulders, stretching, like someone testing out a new shirt. "Not that different. The one heart thing'll take some getting used to. It's a little hard to tell. Still got that new-body feeling, nerve endings still healing an' all."

"Oh." She frowned. "Are you all right, then? Does it hurt?"

"Nah. Well, not really, just not very comfortable. S'like new shoes, y'know? First they're all stiff, an' sometimes they pinch a little, an' you gotta break them in a bit before they feel quite right."

His tone was too light, the way the Doctor's got when he gave a flip answer to something he didn't want to talk about. Rose was about to ask more, but he forestalled her by turning her own question back on her. "And how do you feel?"

"I'm … happy," she lied. The truth was, she wasn't entirely sure what she felt.

The truth was, she didn't seem to feel a whole lot of anything. Like she was sleepwalking her way through this.

"I'm just a bit tired," she concluded.

"Hm. And we've got an early day tomorrow. Maybe you'd better show me that spare bedroom."

"Yeah, maybe," she sighed. Now she felt something. She felt nervous, like a teenager, like this was her first time … She'd thought he'd keep talking longer, that there'd be more time. The kiss had been a big step, but this … this was the long, scary plunge off a cliff. "Or … or not. You could stay in my room, if you want."

There it was. Too late to take back. Nothing but thin air beneath her feet now.

And then, with an anticlimactic little thump, she was standing on solid ground again, because he was shaking his head.

"Not yet," he said. "You're not ready yet. You don't quite believe I'm him, not completely, not in your heart." He reached out and brushed his fingers against her cheek, softening the rejection. "When you know I'm the Doctor, really know, I'll come to you."

Something fluttered in her stomach at the words. Not a rejection, just a postponement. She caught his hand and held it, and this time she met his eyes steadily. They were deep and brown and velvety, and nowhere near as remote as the Doctor's.

"I know everything I need to know," she said. "And I know what I want."

"No." This time he did pull away from her, and his voice, while still gentle, had a hint of steel buried in it. "You don't, Rose. I may be part human in this body, but I ain't gone blind. I seen the way you've been lookin' at me. Did you think I wasn't gonna notice?"

She looked away. No, she hadn't. The truth was, she didn't think this doctor was sharp enough to notice. Evidently he was—and sharp enough to hide it from her, too. She must have been a fool. After all, he was still a doctor, if not  _the_  Doctor, and she'd been unsubtle enough that even her mother had noticed what was going on.

**To Be Continued ...**


	3. Changes

**Part III: Changes**

_Even in my dreams_

_I try to fight but I can't ever win_

Dan Auerbach, "Whispered Words"

**8\. Then—Not Really All Right At All**

"Are you all right?" asked Jackie, her voice pitched low.

She'd been acting her usual self—cheerful, chatty, complaining about the unimportant things, little bit of the ditzy blond, really—until a few minutes ago. They were waiting in the Bergen Airport for the next flight to London. She and Rose had collapsed into chairs, footsore (and heart-sore, in Rose's case) but the doctor hadn't stayed still for long. He was wandering around, staring at everything (a poster of a Dalek, with warnings in three languages and phone numbers for sightings, had given him pause) and as soon as he was out of earshot Jackie had turned to her daughter.

"Course I'm all right," said Rose.  _God, I sound like him,_  she thought, a little disgusted with herself.  _When did I stop being able to admit something's wrong? To my own mother?_  But she didn't take it back.

Jackie gave her a hard, shrewd look. "No. Something's wrong."

"Really, it isn't, Mum. Look, I'm back, everything's all right, and …" Her gaze drifted to a distant figure in a blue suit, currently reading the evacuation diagram. She wondered what he thought of the bit about the bomb shelters. The last few years had not been kind to this world. "He's here. For good. I'm … great."

"But you're thinkin' you picked the wrong one. Now don't go tellin' me you're not," Jackie said, over Rose's protests. "I've seen how you watch him when he ain't looking."

She hadn't meant to say anything. But she suddenly found she had to tell someone. It was too much for her to bear alone. "He ain't the same. He don't even talk the same, Mum."

"Sounds near enough to me. Bit less posh, maybe." Jackie shrugged. "Used to talk like he was from the north, too, come to that. An' he was the same man."

"That was … different."

"Don't see how."

"Look, it's just … confusing, okay?"

Jackie put an arm around her daughter's shoulders, pulling her close. "I know, sweetheart," she said. "But that man over there loves you. He gave you a chance to stay wi' him, an' stay with us—with your family. Now don't go spoiling what you've got worrying over what you can't have."

"They both loved me," said Rose, very softly. She had to believe that.

"But only one could say it," said Jackie, as if that decided things. Bit rich, really, coming from someone who'd always had a very definite opinion about the things men said—and not a flattering one, either.

"Did he—" Rose looked around to see where the doctor was. Nowhere to be seen. She didn't want him hearing this, but she had to know. "Did he look back?"

"Rose—"

She fixed her mother with a hard look of her own. "Did he?" she demanded.

"No," said Jackie, after a long pause. "And neither should you."

There was a long silence, then. Jackie broke it. "There  _is_  somethin' wrong, isn't there? About Himself? Really wrong, I mean, not just the voice or whatever."

Yes. Yes there was. There was the ice cream, for one. But Rose couldn't think of a way to explain it to her mother without sounding silly. She didn't want to explain it. If she didn't say it out loud, maybe it wouldn't seem as real.

"Not now, Mum," she said. And, when Jackie tried to pursue it, "I said not now. He's comin' back, an' I can't let him see me cry."

The doctor bounced up to them and fell into the seat beside Rose, grinning like a loon. "I found a little shop!" he said, like he'd discovered El Dorado. "I love a little shop, don't you? Come on, we got time, come an' have a look!"

**9\. Now—Lost**

"I know you've changed," said Rose, reaching out to him again, trying to show him with the warmth of her eyes that it was all right.

He took a step back, out of her reach. "No," he insisted. "I haven't. Not inside, not in any way that matters." Now he reached out to her, taking her hand and pressing it to his chest over his single heart. It felt like it was beating too fast, and a little unsteadily. "This doesn't change who I am."

_How could it not change you?_  she thought. Losing a whole heart … how could there not be anything else missing with it?

It was ironic, really. She'd searched for so long, and when she'd finally seen him down that dark street … they'd run towards each other, all the world forgotten, and she'd seen the joy in his face and known he did love her. Even if he never said it.

And then came the Dalek. And she begged him not to change, not to regenerate, so she wouldn't have to learn to love the same man with a different face all over again. And he hadn't.

And the doctor had been born, and the Doctor had left. And she was left with a different man with the same face.

"No," she said. "I know you're different."

"But I'm not. Honestly, Rose, I'm not, I'm just the same. I'm him. I remember seein' you in the street—that was  _me_ , Rose—an' then the, the Dalek …" He took her by the shoulders, staring earnestly into her eyes. "I was in your arms. You helped carry me to the TARDIS. You begged me not to change, an' I didn't. See? I'm right here. I found a way to stay me. An' then it all goes black, an' I wake up wi' one heart goin' … I did it for you, Rose."

God. He really believed that. He thought he  _was_  the Doctor. What must that be like, to believe you were one person, and have to live with the body and mind of someone else?

It was her fault. Her fault the doctor had to suffer. And her fault the Doctor was alone.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice catching. "I'm sorry. I just didn't … when he regenerated the first time, I felt like I lost 'im. I didn't want …"

"No, no no no no no … Rose, oh, Rose, no," he babbled. "Cos I didn't wanna change, either. 'S like … like dying. Losing part of myself, cos I can't go back to who I was. An' I like bein' me. Waited a long time to be me. 'Sides, what if I had changed? No Doctor-Donna, nobody to save us …"

She sniffed, hard, though her eyes were still dry, and nodded.

"An', all right, maybe I'm a bit diff'rent," he conceded. "Not from before the metacrisis, but from when you knew me. Cos it's been years, I've been places, I done stuff, yeah? Course it changed me. An' look at you. Look how you've changed."

**10\. Then—Years**

There was only one flight left to London that day. They ended up flying coach, because the small airship only had two first-class cabins, both taken.

She sat beside him on the zeppelin, her hands lying cold in her lap, and listened to him talk. She had her eyes closed, and in the bright sun and the shadows of the clouds she could imagine she was a small child, dreaming away a summer's afternoon.

But the dream was a lie, wasn't it? Because her Doctor had left her. It was over. She couldn't even dream of going back, now, couldn't even pretend that if she could just reach him everything would be all right.

"D'you remember the Kohinoor?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, trying to fake a bit of enthusiasm. At first she'd been relieved to hear him talk about old times, comforted. He'd been talking nonstop for hours, bouncing up and down in his seat, kicking his trainers in the air like a big kid. Sometimes he'd sit with his nose smooshed up against the window (and of course, he had to take the window seat), exclaiming over things outside, saying things like, "Ooo, you've got barges in this universe, too!"

A prim-looking woman in the row in front of them had looked back at him oddly. Until he started talking to  _her_. Her head had snapped around to the front so hard Rose thought she must have given herself whiplash, and she hadn't looked back since.

But now the doctor was flagging, shadows forming under his eyes and a hoarse note in his voice. And still he refused to give in and shut up. Rose thought about reaching over and taking his hand again, but she found his hands were otherwise occupied. He'd taken out the little piece of TARDIS coral and was turning it over and over.

"Five years," he told her. "Wellll, give or take. Depends on the growing conditions. But then we'll be off. Just like old times, Rose, you an' me, in the TARDIS. Forever." He turned a somewhat feverish gaze on her. "Just the same, yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, not having the heart to contradict him. "So what sort of growing conditions?"

"Well, water and a nutrient mix to start with," he said. "An' a modulated temporal flux-field. Straight artron energy'd be better, but she can probably convert tachyons well 'nuff. Gonna have to "invent" most of the equipment myself. But some of the components …" He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know where I could find a post-magnetic chronon inhibitor, do ya, Rose?"

There was a triumphant quirk at the corner of his mouth, like he expected her to be impressed by all that. Like he thought it proved he hadn't changed. And it didn't, but it was still reassuring to hear him talk like that. Even if the accent was a little off.

Kind of sexy, too.

And perhaps because he sounded so much like the Doctor, she couldn't resist teasing him a bit.

"Well, no, never heard of one of those …" she started. "How's that work, now? Cos it sounds like it'd create a discontinuity between time inside and outside the field, an' then use the friction to create a modulated pulse. Yeah?"

He turned his entire body around in his seat to stare at her, gaping like a stranded fish, and his eyes bulged even more than usual. The prim woman in the row in front of them very nearly looked back again, but controlled herself at the last moment.

"S'pose we could modify a dilithium-based shield generator to do something similar," she went on, now grinning openly. "Add a magnetic regulator and feed it back through the thermoconverters …"

She trailed off, her smile fading a bit. She was suddenly aware that this was not her Doctor, and she wasn't quite the same Rose as the teenaged shop girl he used to know. Maybe this new doctor wouldn't like Brainy Rose. Maybe he'd give her that wrong-footed, blustery, I-prefer-women-I-can-impress face she sometimes got from some of her male colleagues.

Then a huge, delighted grin spread over his face, ear to ear. "Rose Tyler! You went and got you're A-levels!" And he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her in a great big breath-stealing Doctor-hug. "Brilliant! Fantastic!  _Molto bene!"_

"Bit more than A-levels," she said, as he settled back into his seat.

"My Rose," he said proudly.

"Now hold on, that's  _my_  Rose," said Jackie, without any real resentment. "And there's no need to act so surprised, neither."

"Hold it, hold it," said Rose. "I'm too old for a custody battle. But if you're gonna fight, wait until I get out from between ya."

"S'pose we can share," conceded the doctor.

"Course we can," said Jackie. "For five years, anyway. Then I suppose you'll be off again."

There was a note of resignation in her tone.

"Don't go blamin' it all on him, Mum," said Rose. "I've been travelin' on my own, you know."

Jackie leaned across her daughter to address the doctor. "She has, too," she said. "Ramblin' Rose, that's what she is. Don't bother calling half the time, neither."

The doctor gave Rose a wistful look. "Stories to tell, eh?"

"Yeah, stories." All those years apart. Maybe they'd talk it over, dredge up all those memories, find out they'd become different people. Maybe she'd changed as much as he had.

Maybe that was why …

No. Don't think that.

The doctor had turned away, looking out the window. With the sun coming from the other direction, she could see his reflection clearly—a troubled frown across a darkening sky.

Perhaps he saw her reflection watching him. He turned back with a sunny smile, good enough to fool anyone but her. But she'd known that face too long and too well to miss the worry in his eyes, even if it wasn't quite the same man looking out at her.

"Soooo," he said, changing the subject. "Dimension Cannon? Really? What's that do, then?"

"Well," she said, mimicking his light tone and meaning it even less than he did, "I stick on a helmet, climb into the barrel, an' ask somebody to light the fuse …"

"Noooo. Really?" He frowned. "Who came up wi' a daft name like that, anyway?"

"Harley. You'll meet Harley, s'pose." That would be interesting to watch.

"So how's it work?"

"Well, we didn't want to damage the walls of the universe, like with the hoppers." She gave her mother a pointed glare that made no impression whatsoever. "So we decided to try creating a phase shift around whatever we were sending through. Slip it right through the walls, like a ghost."

"Huh. No, but see, you can't—not when the walls are intact. Cos the higher-dimensional sheaves of the barrier are quantum-interlaced."

"Oh …" She made a face. "I hadn't thought of that … an' here I was, thinkin' I was so brilliant."

"You are brilliant," he told her. But he still looked worried. "Tell me, Rose … what level of phase shift did you use to create that effect?"

Rose opened her mouth, closed it, looked around. The prim woman was partly turned around in her seat again. "Shouldn't really be talkin' about this in public, you know," she murmured to the doctor.

"But what did you use for shielding?" he persisted.

"Oh, enough of this," said Jackie, inadvertently saving Rose from a conversation she really, really didn't want to have. "I get enough of this nonsense at home. Anyway, look, they're gonna start serving dinner."

"Dinner? Oh, good," said the doctor, completely distracted.

**11\. Now—Werewolf**

"I ain't talking 'bout that physics degree you're workin' on, neither," said the doctor. There was something thunderous in his expression, a shadow in his eyes, but it didn't reach as deep as the Oncoming Storm. This was a more human look, hurt and resentment and accusation. "Cos I know why you didn't wanna talk about the Dimension Cannon. You couldn't launch a conker across the Void wi'out a massive phase conversion. An' you're brilliant, Rose, you really are, but you were workin' wi' tech you didn't understand, not really."

And now there was something worse in his eyes. Pity. Fear. Not for himself, but for her.

"Even wi'out knowing what I know," he went on, gentle and relentless, "you knew it was dangerous. Had to. You all had to know. So why'd they send you? Why send the Director's daughter?"

She wanted to ask him to stop, wanted to tell him anything if he would just leave it. But it wouldn't change anything.

Too late. Things had already changed.

"Because of Bad Wolf," she said, before he could say it for her. "They didn't want to let me go. Dad least of all. But I was the only one who could. Mitch Adams tried it first, an' it almost killed him. The others couldn't even go near it when it was operating, not without getting sick. But it didn't bother me."

He didn't tell her it was all right. Maybe it wasn't. He shoved his hands in his pockets, a subtle don't-touch-me gesture, putting distance between them. And his eyes were still stern. "I've always known there was a trace of Bad Wolf left in you. Like an old scar. But it's been reopened. An' every time you used the Cannon, every time you crossed the Void, it must've opened a bit more. What did you used for shielding?"

"Quantum dampers, at first," she said, her mouth dry. "But it limited our range. So in the later trials, I went unshielded."

He didn't say anything. That was the worst of all.

No. Worst was that she'd done it to herself, willingly. She'd hurled herself into the emptiness between universes. And in the silence of the broken places, she'd stretched her mind, straining for direction, learning to feel the eddies of time and space and other things she had no name for.

Until one day, while resting in the blessed solidity of a material world, she realized she could still feel it. Realized that her travels were making her into something she didn't recognize.

And she'd kept going.

"I can feel currents," she told the doctor, willing him to understand that it wasn't important. "Just on the edge of my mind. I can feel … energy, and the Time Vortex. I can feel the walls of the universe."

And now the last little slivers of cracks were sealing up, too tight for even thought to pass through. Forever.

Like a tomb.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. His voice was gentle now. Terribly gentle.

She looked away. She'd had enough of crying for today. "Dunno. I mean, it don't matter, yeah? So I can sense the Time Vortex. Doesn't mean anything, does it? Does it change anything?"

"Rose. Oh, Rose." He went to her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. She held onto him, too, and it felt like being held by the Doctor again. Like she was safe. "Course it don't matter. I knew, see, I knew from the moment I saw you again. I can feel it in you, like … like you got a little bit of the sun in you, burnin' away."

"My parents don't know," she said, all in a rush. "They know I could find my way cos I'd traveled with you before, they knew it didn't make me sick, but … I just want to be home, the way things used to be, and—"

Her voice cracked, and she stopped, not wanting to listen to it.

"Shh," he said, stroking her hair. "You don't want them to treat you differently. You don't want them lookin' at ya like you've changed."

"But I guess I have." Changed into something … less than human.

"It don't matter," said the doctor, pulling away from her just far enough to look into her eyes with a sort of desperation. "You hear me? Not to me. Not ever. You're still my Rose. And I'm still me. I'm still the Doctor."

She wanted to tell him it didn't matter to her, either. Should tell him. He'd been through so much, and here he was, trying to comfort her. But she couldn't return the favor, not now.

"But you can say it," she said. "Don't tell me that doesn't matter."

**Coming Soon: Promises**

 


	4. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um ... sorry? Again ... I meant to post these one chapter each Friday and the chaos of real life keeps tripping me up ...

**Part IV: Promises**  
  
  
  
 _I hear words, in my sleep  
Promises you make and never keep  
  
_Dan Auerbach, “Whispered Words”  
  
  
  
 **12\. Then–A Heart Ripped in Half  
**  
  
  
She’d thought she was stronger, now. Hell, she thought she’d always been stronger, but maybe she’d gotten weaker instead. Or maybe she’d just got tired.  
  
She’d thought she could face down anything, resist any temptation. But now she had to face the Doctor. Saying goodbye to her on a damned beach in Norway, this time of his own choice. She’d never thought she’d  _have_  to face that, never in a million years, even if there had always been a nagging little voice in the back of her head that told her he’d run one day …  
  
And there was another man standing before her, same face, same eyes, same voice. Not him, she couldn’t quite believe that, but like him. Offering her his single heart, pounding under her fingertips. Offering her forever.  
  
“I’ve only got one life, Rose Tyler,” and the way he said her name broke something in her, some barrier around her own heart. “I could spend it with you, if you want.”  
  
He tried to make it sound almost casual, like he wasn’t as desperate to stay with her as she was with him, any him. He didn’t quite pull it off.  
  
And she found herself believing it was him, not because it was true, but because she  _wanted_. Just wanted it so badly, with every fiber of her being. She felt like she was the one with two hearts, now, one for each Doctor, one shouting for joy and the other bleeding to death, and not sure which was which.  
  
And the Doctor gave them the TARDIS coral, and brushed aside Rose’s last, weak protests. Told her he’d be fine with Donna. And Rose had let it go, even though she knew Donna wouldn’t last and guessed he did, too. What was one more lie, after all? So many had been told already …  
  
Like when he’d said he wasn’t gonna leave her, and yet here they were.  
  
But she couldn’t let him go. Just couldn’t, not ever. She’d promised she’d never leave him, and she wouldn’t break that promise, even if he broke his.  
  
So she asked one last, desperate question. She knew the answer was gonna hurt, however it went, knew it wouldn’t change anything. But some things, after all, needed to be spoken aloud.  
  
“Does it need saying?” asked the Doctor.  _Her_  Doctor, the real Doctor, the one she’d trusted with her life and her heart, the one she’d crossed a thousand universes to find. His face was pained, like he was breaking his own heart instead of hers, pleading with her to understand.  
  
And she had tried to tell herself that she didn’t need to hear those words. Tried since before Canary Warf, tried since that last day on this beach, tried until she could fool herself that she believed. Because she knew, oh, she knew, and it was only three little words …  
  
And despite all her logic, it still broke her heart. She almost hated him, then.  
  
She turned to the other, the dangerous man in the blue suit who smelled of smoke and battle. The copy, the clone, the one she wanted because he could grow old with her, be with her without thinking of the long centuries he would live after her death.  
  
She didn’t want him to say it, so she’d have an excuse to push him away. But she needed to hear it from someone, anyone, because she felt like she was dying here, all that she believed in proving false.  
  
“And you, … doctor?” she asked. He was looking at her very seriously, his eyes reflecting her pain. “What was the end of that sentence?”  
  
But there was a calm certainty in those eyes as well, and a tender depth of affection.  
  
He leaned in close, the gentle touch of his hand on her arm sending a jolt like electricity through her body, and the smell of sandalwood making her suddenly believe (with her body, if not her mind) that he was the same man, and all those years and tears since their last parting had never happened.  
“ _I love you_ ,” he whispered, and his voice was the voice of the Doctor.  
  
Something broke inside her at those words. Like a dam breaking, only  _all_  of her seemed to crumble, all her strength, all her reason, all her thought washed away. She didn’t care if it was right or wrong, or what it meant for her future. She didn’t care if there was a future. She only  _needed_. Needed him and his love, now and always, needed him as she had denied so long …  
  
She found herself looking into his eyes, and for a moment, she only had one heart again, whole and unbroken.  
  
And then she was grabbing his jacket and pulling him to her, and his arms were around her and his lips met hers and she kissed him as she’d never kissed anyone, desperately, trying to make up for years apart in a single, frantic moment.  
  
And yeah, maybe that made her a traitor to her Doctor, too, but in that moment she didn’t care.  
  
There was a slam of a wooden door, like the sky falling, and a grinding wheeze like the Earth tearing itself apart. She pulled away from the doctor and looked around to see the TARDIS fading, ran towards it without looking back, even though she knew it was too late. Too late from the very beginning of that kiss, too late from the gun of a Dalek, too late from Canary Warf … too late from a night in Henrik’s when a man in a leather jacket had taken her hand and said, “Run.”  
  
And now, suddenly, she had no heart. Just a gaping, empty wound in her chest, growing into a physical pain that choked her, stealing her breath.  
  
A warm hand took hers, and she could breathe again. She turned and saw a familiar face with a stranger looking at her from his eyes, and maybe the stranger was him, and suddenly nothing in the world made any sense at all.  
  
  
  
 **13\. Now–I Can  
**  
  
  
“Could he have said it, then?” she demanded. “Could he have told me he loved me?”  
  
The man before her swallowed hard. His eyes shifted away, and the muscle in his cheek jumped the way it always did when he lied. Always did when the Doctor lied.  
  
“I don’t know,” he said.  
  
She’d been thinking about it all afternoon. Wondering if the answer mattered. Wondering if the Doctor had not said it deliberately, to push her into the metacrisis' arms.  
  
And maybe there wasn’t much difference between  _wouldn’t_  and  _couldn’t_. Because if he  _could_  say it, then how could he not? How could he leave her like that?  
  
“The first time he said goodbye to me,” she said. “He knew how much time he had left. Cos he’s a Time Lord, right? Knows everything down to the last second. Did he … did he do that deliberately? Wait too long so he wouldn’t have to tell me?”  
  
“Not consciously,” said the metacrisis, after a pause for thought that seemed just a little too long. “Maybe … maybe I did it unconsciously.” And for a moment she felt like she was talking to a ghost again, the memory of her Doctor speaking to her from this doctor’s body. Someone she could see and hear, but never touch, not properly. “I tried to say it. I thought, if I could say the beginning, at least you would know what I meant.”  
  
Now she had to fight off anger, had to remember that the man speaking to her wasn’t the man from whose memories he spoke. “Could he ever have said it? If there was more time, if we’d stayed together?”  
  
Now he met her eyes, bracing himself. “Not yet,” he said, with almost brutal directness. “Maybe not in this life. That’s what regeneration is for. Why we don’t just come back as the same people. It lets us change into … who we’re ready to be.”  
  
Next regeneration. Well. That answered that question. She never would have heard those words from him as he was. As she loved him. She would have had to wait for him to die (and die before his time, if he died within her lifetime) and learn to love another familiar stranger who could tell her what she needed to hear.   
  
Assuming he still wanted to say it.  
  
“And you were ready to change,” she said.  
  
“No. I’m not a regeneration.” There was a darkly stubborn look in his eyes, an I-don’t-want-to-deal-with-this-so-I-won’t look, like a balky teenager. “I’m the same.”  
  
“But you can say it.”  
  
“Yes!” he snapped. “All right?” He turned away and began to pace up and down in front of the fireplace, firing off sentences at her. “It’s just … easier. Clearer in my head. Less complicated. Maybe it’s cos I’m half human. Gallifreyan doesn’t even have a  _word_  for love.”  
  
“Didn’t have a …” She couldn’t quite take it in. “But–“  
  
“We could feel it,” he said. “But we couldn’t say it, they took away the word to stop us sayin’ it, stop us from admitting we could feel. Cos we were gods, but love makes you weak. Gives you somethin’ you can lose, somethin’ that can break you. Somethin’ your machines can’t fix.”  
  
He came to a halt in front of her, glaring. “But I can say it. I can tell you I-I love you. Cos I’m never gonna have to watch you wither and die while I go on. I don’t have to face all those centuries alone. Don’t you want me to say it? Why are you asking me these things?”  
  
“I just want to know!” she snapped back. Part of her realized she was going too far, that she should let it drop, at least for tonight, but she’d been through too much today, today and the last six months and the last four years. “It’s all right if you’ve changed, I just need to know how much!”  
  
“What makes you think I’ve changed at all?”   
  
His voice was almost a snarl, but there was something lost in it, too. Asking her to play along and pretend with him.  
  
That was how she knew he’d changed. Because  _he_  knew.  
  
  
  
 **14\. Then–The Wrong Flavor  
**  
  
  
It was stupid. It was meaningless. It was laughable.  
  
But there it was.  
  
They’d made it into town and were headed for the bus stop to catch a ride to the airport in Bergen. Rose didn’t feel like talking, and the … Doctor seemed a bit worn out from the walk. But Jackie filled up the silence for them, rattling on about Tony (interspersed, of course, with bitching at … this Doctor for setting them down in Norway, and him protesting that the  _other_  Doctor had been the one steering). Then he’d spotted an ice cream parlor on the corner and decided he was hungry.  
  
“Rose, come on!” He tugged her hand, bouncing up and down in his impatience. “Ice cream!”  
  
That wasn’t the problem. The Doctor didn’t eat regularly, but he’d get weird cravings–bananas, edible ball bearings, you name it. It was practically normal for him, if you could use the words “Doctor” and “normal” in the same sentence.  
  
“They serve meals on the zeppelins,” said Rose, trying to slow him down.  
  
He pulled a face. “ _Airline_  food?” he protested. “The first thing I ever eat in this body, and you want it to be airline food?”  
  
Put that way, she found it hard to argue. Not that she expected the airline food to be bad, but this was a special occasion, and they were all tired and hungry from walking on the sand.  
  
The ice cream parlor was still open, though half the shops on the street were boarded up. It was run by a tired-looking man whose face had the numb, shuttered expression of a refugee. He didn’t return their smiles, and there were no other customers.  
  
Jackie had cookies and cream. Rose had black cherry. The … Doctor went for triple chocolate fudge.  
  
“They’ve got pistachio,” Rose pointed out.  
  
“Meh,” he said, indifferent. “I want chocolate. I love chocolate, it’s my favorite flavor.”  
  
“Thought that was pistachio,” said Rose.  
  
She certainly wasn’t looking for differences, then. She spoke without thinking, but it was followed by a moment of echoing silence.  
  
She looked up and met the metacrisis’ eyes. He was staring at her, frozen, with a stricken expression on his face. Like he suddenly realized he’d made a terrible mistake.  
  
Then his gob snapped back into action. “Wellll … used to be. But chocolate’s good, too. I just got this craving for chocolate, an’ triple chocolate fudge, well, how can ya pass that up? Anyway, got different taste buds. Half-human taste buds.”  
  
Rose just stared back at him for a moment. But she’d always been the sort of person who could size up a situation and react in an instant, and the last few years had honed that ability. “Oh,” she said, like that explained everything.  
  
“And just cos you ain’t changed your favorite flavor in years don’t mean I can’t,” the doctor went on. “I mean, that’s dead boring, right there.”  
  
“S’pose so,” she shrugged. “Oi, you callin’ me boring?”  
  
She forced a smile at his sputters. She’d learned how to act these last few years, too.  
  
They sat down at one of the outdoor tables. The doctor was concentrating on his ice cream, and Rose pretended to concentrate on hers, leaving Jackie to carry the conversation.  
  
It wasn’t that it was the wrong flavor ice cream. That didn’t matter. Cos he was right, people changed their minds about stuff like that all the time. Wasn’t half-human taste buds, either.  
  
It was the fact that when he’d told her it didn’t matter, he’d been lying.  
  
Which meant that it did matter, and he had changed. And it must be something pretty important, for him to react that way. In fact, he had to have changed, period, to react that way. The Doctor hadn’t been like this when he’d regenerated. She’d thought he was a Slitheen, even, and he’d stood there and calmly explained that he was the same man.  
  
“Come on, Rose, don’t dawdle,” said Jackie, looking over to see her daughter pushing a pink slurry around her bowl.  
  
“S’too cold for ice cream,” she said. Which it was, really. The Darkness had played hell with the climate.  
  
The doctor offered to finish it for her, and polished it off in short order. He’d managed, typically (for the Doctor, anyway), to get a smudge of chocolate on his face, and Jackie (also typically) attacked him with a napkin while he squawked and flailed his arms. “Gerroff me, woman!”  
  
“Oh, hold still. Honestly, you’re worse than Tony …”  
  
It made it a little easier for Rose to fake a smile. But she knew, now. She knew that he might look like the Doctor, he might have some of the Doctor’s memories, he might even be part of the Doctor–but he wasn’t the Doctor.  
  
She’d lost him.  
  
  
  
 **15\. Now–I Can’t  
**  
  
  
She couldn’t call him on it, of course. Because it was such a stupid little thing, and he would only scoff and lie. But there had been a lot of other little things, and she knew she was right.  
  
“Just tell me,” she said. “Tell me the truth. Tell me how things are.”  
  
“How things are.” He looked down at his trainers, lips compressed in a hard, thin line. When he looked up, his gaze was steady and uncompromising.  
  
“I’ll never stop traveling,” he said. His voice had slipped back again, almost like the Doctor’s. “I can’t. That’s why I gave myself the TARDIS clipping. Not because he trusted me, but because he knew it would kill me to be stranded on one world forever, and he doesn’t want to be a killer. He trusts you to look after me. But in five years, I’m leaving. You can come with me, I’d like you to come with me, and we can come back to visit … but never to stay. It’s not in me.”  
  
“Okay,” she said immediately. He obviously expected an answer, and she didn’t have to think about it. She’d know this about the Doctor from the beginning, and she’d made her choice. She’d chosen the road. “Never expected less.”  
  
“All right, then,” he acknowledged. Something tightened in his face, and he hesitated a moment before going on. “I’m part human now, but I’m still at least half Time Lord. I was created by chance, one in a million. And in a metacrisis. But the genetics aren’t really compatible. We may be able to have children together, if we’re very lucky, but in all probability … I can’t.”  
  
She hesitated a moment, too, before she said, “Okay.” It wasn’t that it was okay, precisely. It was a lot to take in. But it was a fact of biology. Couldn’t be changed. And if she couldn’t have children with him, she didn’t want them.  
  
He studied her for a long moment, gauging her sincerity. When he continued, his voice was harder than before, defiant.  
  
“I can’t take back what I did today,” he said. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. The Daleks were too dangerous to be allowed to live. He wouldn’t admit it, but if I hadn’t killed them, someone else would have had to.”   
  
She couldn’t quite say okay to that. But she gave him a short nod, accepting.  
  
A flash of pain crossed his face. And anger. The Doctor had said he was full of anger, and now, finally, she saw it.  
  
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he demanded. “That’s why you keep insisting I’ve changed.”  
  
“No,” said Rose, though that was painfully unlike the Doctor. She’d once seen him come close to killing, when they’d stumbled across a Dalek in their early travels. He’d pulled back from the edge, but this doctor had gone right over. Not just one Dalek, but all of them, an entire race. No–an entire  _species_.  
  
Genocide.  
  
She didn’t know if he could come back from crossing that line. If anyone could.  
  
But … “No, that’s not why.”  
  
“It is, isn’t it?” he insisted, agitated now. “He left me. I wasn’t good enough for him. Ain’t I good enough for you, neither, Rose, is that it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But you blame me, don’t you? If I hadn’t done what I did, he wouldn’t've left me, an’ he wouldn’t've left you. Is that it? Do you blame me for killin’ them?”  
  
“No,” she said, shaking her head violently. “I can’t blame you for any of it. Not what he did, not what you did.”  
  
“Why not?” His voice had risen to a near-shout, like he  _wanted_  her to accuse him.  
  
“Because of what  _I’ve_  done!” she yelled back.  
  
 **Coming Soon: Getting the Words Wrong**


	5. Getting the Words Wrong

_I hear words, in my head  
Each and every thing you ever said  
_  
Dan Auerbach, “Whispered Words  
  
 **16\. Then–Blood-Stained Hands  
**  
She’d been tired. She should have looked around more carefully before she materialized on this world. It was early days for her, with the Dimension Cannon, but she’d been traveling long enough to know better. But she’d been tired.  
  
She should have left when she’d seen the rubble and the barbed wire, smelled the stink of garbage and despair. It was a world that had fallen to shadow, starless, sunless, cold. But she’d been tired.  
  
And now, as she scrabbled on the ground with the filthy, desperate man, she didn’t have the time or concentration to spare.  
  
He’d come at her with a knife out of the dark and she’d knocked it out of his hands, all those hours of combat training paying off. Then he’d just launched himself at her. He was gaunt and sick-looking, eyes bloodshot and lips marked with sores from disease or malnourishment, maybe drugs. But he fought with a half-crazed strength and it was all she could do to hold her own.  
  
Their hands found the knife at the same moment, struggling for possession. But his grip slipped for an instant, and she lashed out before she could think.  
  
He fell back with a choked cry, staring at her in mute accusation and incomprehension as the light faded from his eyes. She scrambled away, ended up crouched against the alley wall, unable to look away. Under the grime, in the orange glow of a failing streetlight, she couldn’t tell how old he was. Maybe past eighteen. Possibly.  
  
She never knew what he wanted. Maybe he saw that she was clean and well-fed, and thought she had money, or food, or drugs. Maybe he’d just wanted to kill something.  
  
She threw herself back into the Void without looking closer, before the sticky blood on her hands had dried.  
  
That was the first death.  
  
 **17\. Pillar of Salt**  
  
“Oh, Rose,” said the doctor. There was a look of utter devastation on his face. “Oh, Rose, Rose, no.”  
  
He reached out to her, but she pulled away, arms wrapped tight around herself, staring at the wall. She kept thinking of the Crucible, how delighted she’d been to see Martha and Jack and the others, and the look he’d given her for it. How horrified he’d been. Maybe the old Rose wouldn’t have smiled at their threats. Maybe he could tell, like it was written on her forehead in blood.   
  
“Maybe I’m the one who ain’t good enough for him,” she said, voice shaking. “Maybe that’s why he left me.”  
  
“No, no, Rose, that’s not it, that’s not why, Rose, it’s all right–“  
  
“ _Don’t say that!_ ” she shouted. “It ain’t all right,  _he_  wouldn’t say it’s all right, not ever!”  
  
He flinched, like she’d hit him. She wanted to hit him, wanted to hurt him for not being the Doctor, for being too much like the Doctor, for the compassion that remained in his face. Couldn’t he see she didn’t deserve it?   
  
“Not all right, then,” he conceded. “But he wouldn’t blame you. He couldn’t. Neither of us could ever … you didn’t have a choice.”  
  
“There’s always a choice. Always a better way. An’ I …” She couldn’t finish.  
  
“Maybe there are better ways.” His voice was very gentle now. “But sometimes we can’t find them, not fast enough. Sometimes we get lost. Sometimes there’s no time, and we just have to do what we can. And move on.”  
  
He’d come up beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. She let him. She felt so cold, like she was the one who’d been stabbed and left in a pool of blood in that alley. He sounded like he was bleeding with her.  
  
“Neither of us could ever hate you, Rose. We couldn’t blame you. We don’t think any less of you.” He began stroking her hair, lightly, and she shifted a little closer to him, almost against her will. She didn’t deserve comfort, not for this, but oh, she needed it. “You’ve seen me kill, before today,” he went on. “Seen  _him_  kill. And I–we–we did things, in the War …”  
  
She took a deep, gulping breath. “How do I go b-back?” she asked. “How do I go back from this?”  
  
He brushed a tear from her cheek. When she looked up again, there was only compassion in his face, no hint of condemnation. And that was very Doctorish. “You can’t go back. You just go on. You run, and you never look back.”  
  
“He didn’t look back.” The words spilled out of her before she could stop them. “He left me. He never even looked back. I k-keep thinkin’, he saw this in me, he saw I was d-dirty, an’ that’s why–why–“  
  
“No.” He spoke with absolute certainty, gripping her shoulders and giving her a little shake. “No, Rose. He didn’t look back because he  _couldn’t_. He’s not–we’re not strong enough. He couldn’t ever have left you, then.”  
  
“Could you have done it, then?” she challenged. “Could you have left me? Walked away an’ never looked back?”  
  
“No.” The word was forced out of him, unwilling. “I couldn’t. I’d have looked back, an’ I’d have stayed. Like a pillar of salt.”  
  
“Why? Why?” Her voice was becoming a hoarse gasp, full of rage and tears that would no longer fall. “Cos you keep sayin’ how you’re both the same. How could he have done it, when you can’t?”  
  
“Cos I don’t have to!” He took a deep, gulping breath. “I’m half human, Rose. I’m gonna grow old an’ I’m gonna die. But he won’t, he’s gotta keep going. I–we–lost you once. You think I could survive that again? Havin’ you with me, an’ then havin’ you gone?”  
  
He cupped her face, keeping her from looking away.  
  
“He loves you, Rose. Just the same as me, both alike. Always has, always will.”  
  
And, looking up into his eyes, she knew that it was true. The Doctor had loved her, and so did this man. Whoever he was.   
  
Maybe that would be enough. Yeah, she could live with the doctor’s love, now she knew it was real, not just another lie.  
  
She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder so she wouldn’t have to look at all the missing things, all the empty places behind his eyes. He held her too tightly, almost hurting.   
  
“I know who you are now,” she said. The tears were coming now, just a few, like ice on the edge of melting. A promise of spring in the dead of winter. Some spark of feeling in her numbness.  
  
“I’m the Doctor,” he said.  
  
She smiled through her tears. “You’re the other egg of the Phoenix.”  
  
 **18\. Then–The Other Egg of the Phoenix  
**  
She’d been all over. She’d seen a lot of strange things. But the parallel Earth where she’d turned on a telly and discovered Conan O’Brien was a talking cat … now that was just plain weird.  
  
They still had humans, which was good. Helped her fit in. And there was a human government. But the cats got plenty of respect. Their aristocracy lived in temples, and spoke prophecy.  
  
That was how she found herself kneeling on a cushion in a small, incense-filled chamber, looking up at a tabby the color of smoke.  
  
“You’ve traveled far,” said the cat.  
  
Rose bit back a smart remark and nodded.  
  
The cat smiled (which was bloody weird to see) and half-closed his eyes. “Further than you think I know. And shall travel farther than  _you_  know. You seek Darkness, to do battle with it.”  
  
“Do you know the Darkness?”  
  
“I have seen it, like a shadow on my dreams. It taints the future of this world. And yours.”  
  
“All worlds, I think.”  
  
“Perhaps, if it is not stopped. You must stop it, but not alone. The woman with a beast on her back. And the threefold man.”  
  
Threefold? There was the Doctor, but he’d said he had thirteen lives, not three. And two hearts. Wait. He had three lives left after this–was he going to change again?  
  
Had he changed already? What if he had? Would he still feel the same way about her?  
  
“I’m looking for a man,” she told the cat. “A man I knew, someone I think could help me.”  
  
“Yes,” agreed the cat. “You must find him. And he will help you, and he will give you a gift.”  
  
“A gift?” She was momentarily thrown. She was talking about the death of universes, and finding the man she loved. What did she care about a gift?  
  
“The other egg of the Phoenix.” The cat’s voice had gone distant, like the smoke of the incense. “Do you know the legend?”  
  
“No.” This was going to be one of those metaphorical things. Cryptic. The sort of prophecy you couldn’t figure out until too late, most likely. Unless you were very clever, and very, very lucky.   
  
Good thing she was both, then.  
  
“They say that the Phoenix lays an egg, when it knows its time is near,” said the cat. “And that it builds a nest of spices, and burns itself in the nest. And from the egg in the ashes, the Phoenix hatches, reborn. But there is an older story.  
  
“The oldest tales say that the Phoenix lays  _two_  eggs, not one. One egg is white. From that egg hatches the Phoenix itself. But the other egg, the black egg …”   
  
She waited for it to finish, but the cat just blew out a sighing breath.  
  
“What hatches from the black egg, then?” she prompted.  
  
“Oh, no one knows that,” said the cat. “Aren’t you lucky? You’re the one who gets to find out.”  
  
She couldn’t help it. “I thought you was supposed to tell  _me_  my future,” she protested. “I can see I’m gonna find out. Don’t you have any idea?”  
  
“The thing itself? No.” And the cat smiled again. “But what it means for you … mystery, danger, and adventure. And love.”  
  
And Rose had smiled again, thinking she knew whose love it meant.  
  
 **19\. Now–The Black Egg**  
  
“Time Lords are like Phoenixes, ain’t they?” she said into the doctor’s shoulder. “They die. They go up in flames, an’ then they’re reborn. That’s the white egg, the regeneration. But the metacrisis … that’s different. That’s the black egg. That’s you. That’s what you are.”  
  
He pushed her away, suddenly, startling her, and his eyes were furious. “No,” he said. “No, no, no. That’s not what I am, Rose, I’m the white egg. I’m the Doctor. There’s two white eggs this time an’ they’re both me, both the same–“  
  
His voice cracked.  
  
It wasn’t fury in his eyes, she realized. It was terror. “Please, Rose, please, listen to me. I’m him, I’m the same, just give me time, I can prove it!”  
  
For a moment all she could do was stare at him in shock. This stranger in front of her, with the Doctor’s familiar features shattered into a broken, pleading mask. She’d never seen an expression like this on his face. So much fear. So much weakness.  
  
So much less.  
  
It was like pulling aside his shirt and seeing a gaping, mortal wound where his second heart had been.  
  
This was why he couldn’t admit he’d changed. Because he’d changed too much, and he knew it, and he was afraid. He actually thought she would leave him.  
  
“Rose, please!”  
  
“’Course you got time,” she said. Now she was fighting back tears again, but they weren’t for herself. They were for him. Because she couldn’t stand to see pain in those eyes, even if he wasn’t her Doctor any more. “I ain’t going nowhere. C’mere.”  
  
He was clinging to her, but pulling away at the same time. Because he knew what she’d seen. What lay underneath the front he’d been putting up all day. “But … is that how you see me, Rose? Like I’m some … some strange creature that you can’t understand?”  
  
“’S how I saw the Doctor, half the time. Other Doctor,” she added. “But no, no, I don’t. Shh. That ain’t what I meant.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
She slid her hands up onto his shoulders, trying to draw him close again. “You’re a gift. Cos I don’t know all of it yet, but I know the cat was right. I know what hatches from the black egg for me. It’s love.”  
  
“Love?” he said, in a very small voice.  
  
She nodded, and this time when she tried to draw him into her arms, he let her. He didn’t return her embrace, just stood there, stiff and frozen. Maybe she’d hurt him too badly.  
  
She hadn’t meant to hurt him at all. She never wanted to hurt him.  
  
“Stay wi’ me,” she said. “Tonight. Just to sleep. It’s a big bed, we can … we can sleep on opposite sides, if you want, but …”  
  
He pulled back from her a bit. Because he was weaker than the Doctor, but he was still strong. He pulled his self-control together as she watched, covering up his weakness, his expression like a granite wall. He looked very like the Doctor, then, trying to shut her out, unwilling to trust her. Wondering if she was acting out of pity. Or, perhaps worse, obligation.  
  
“I can’t,” she told him. “I can’t sleep without you there. I’m gonna lie awake an’ wonder if I imagined you.”  
  
He searched her eyes, looking for any sign he was being humored. Then he nodded.  
  
“All right.”  
  
 **Concluding Soon: One More Time**

 


	6. One More Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very, very sorry this is so late ... I had some technical issues (and I'd like to give a great big thanks to the AO3 tech support team, they're wonderful) and then some real life issues got in the way. I've been looking back over this story and wondering if I should have rewritten it, but I've never been good at that sort of thing, and I simply don't have the energy. This chapter I tweaked a few lines, though.
> 
> Hugs and Doctor-duplicates to everyone who left kudos.

**Part VI: One More Time**  
  
 _Every sign, every line_  
 _Trick me into falling one more time_  
  
 _When you need me, you’re here_  
 _When you don’t, nowhere near_  
 _I should have quit a long time before_  
 _Oh_  
  
Dan Auerbach, “Whispered Words”  
  
 **20\. Then–She Holds His Hand**  
  
Rose stared at the back of the seat in front of her. She didn’t want to look out the window at the empty sky. At the Darkness. Because the stars weren’t back yet, and though the doctor said they would be, she still didn’t want to see. Still couldn’t quite believe him.  
  
Because she loved the Doctor (didn’t she?), trusted him, thought he was brilliant, but he was always getting things wrong. He’d said she couldn’t come back, and she had. And he’d said that the metacrisis was him, just the same.  
  
She didn’t want to look at the doctor, either.  
  
He was obviously tiring, becoming steadily less convincing, and he kept rubbing at his chest where the Doctor’s second heart would be, like the absence pained him. He’d perked up a little after dinner, but it hadn’t lasted. Jackie kept trying to talk to him, but he babbled past her, focused on Rose. He spoke more and more desperately as she became more silent, and she could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head, willing her to … she didn’t know, smile at him? Act like everything was fine? She could hear the exhaustion in his voice, but she was exhausted, too. She couldn’t do it.   
  
 _He left me._  
  
That was all she could think of. She remembered asking Sarah Jane what she should do, whether she should leave the Doctor before he left her–because even then she’d started to doubt their forever–and Sarah’s answer.  
  
 _No. Some things are worth getting your heart broken._  
  
No. No, they weren’t. Nothing was worth this. And she was so angry with him, because he’d promised her he wouldn’t leave her like he’d left Sarah, and angry with herself for believing it, for still believing all these years when he was gone. And angry with herself, for breaking that same promise. How could she believe in love, when even her own love wasn’t strong enough to stop her leaving him?  
  
And now she sat next to this man who sounded less and less like the Doctor as the day wore on, and she was supposed to fall for it all over again? She was supposed to believe in forever?  
  
No. No more.  
  
She turned to look at the metacrisis. She thought she could manage that, now. Now she’d made up her mind, now she was letting the Doctor go. Now that she’d decided this wasn’t him.  
  
And she saw a tall, skinny man in a suit, with punk-rock hair and soulful brown eyes, and even though there were empty spaces in those eyes as desolate as the Darkness out the window behind him, she saw the Doctor there. Not all of him, not by a long shot, but  _him_. Nattering on about the Ood and giant brains.  
  
And she realized she did love him, after all. Loved him no matter how much or how little of him was left, loved him even if he left her a thousand times, loved him even if he’d never loved her. She always had, always would, every part of him. If he was chopped into a million bits, she would love every one, and if he were burned to ash and scattered on the wind then she would love the wind.  
  
She smiled past the lump in her throat, and she reached out and took the metacrisis' too-warm hand, squeezing it tight. He trailed off, gripping her back, and warmth lit up the darkness in his eyes. Reflecting her smile back at her. He was so much more than ashes. Not a copy, but a real person. He was alive, so very alive, and he needed her.  
  
She loved him. Maybe she was mad, but she didn’t care if it meant another broken heart. She loved him. That much was true, whatever else was a lie. And there was peace in that.  
  
His hand. His right hand. That was the same hand. Today had been so mad, she hadn’t even thought of that. But this hand she was holding … that  _was_  part of her Doctor, physically part of him. He’d given her part of his body, so that she could go on holding his hand, a universe away. He’d loved her that much–enough to give her part of himself.  
  
She held his hand for the rest of the flight, through the airport and the cameraphones and the taxi ride home.  
  
 **21\. Now–Bed of Broken Roses**  
  
She’d showed him the shower in the guest room down the hall, and when she came out of her en suite, he was already finished (probably because he hadn’t bothered to dry his hair) and was standing by her bed in an old white tee and gray sweatpants that used to belong to her dad. The clothes were baggy, making him look thinner than ever, and their colorlessness seemed to bleach his skin, as well. His face was haggard with exhaustion, and he was shivering and trying not to look like he was.  
  
“Don’t just stand there with your bare feet an’ wet head,” she snapped. She was annoyed at him for not taking better care of himself, and more annoyed with herself for putting him through so much. “Get under the blankets before you catch cold!”  
  
“'M not a flippin’ kid,” he grumped back, but without any strength.   
  
He looked like a refugee from some terrible disaster. Maybe he hadn’t lost that much of himself–maybe he had just been tired. Or maybe he was tired from losing so much. Either way, she’d never seen him look so wrecked, and it hurt her to see it.  
  
“Here,” she said, pulling back the covers for him. He hesitated for a moment before getting into the bed, still unsure of his welcome. It was a slightly fussy-looking bed, white-painted wood and white quilt patterned with pink roses, a matching fabric panel on the headboard with an incongruous blaster-hole scorched through it. Well, that ought to make a doctor feel at home, anyway. And speaking of burns … “Oh, that looks bad. D’you want a bandage?”  
  
“No,” he said, as she gently touched his arm. “Ouch! It’s fine, just leave it.”  
  
He got into the bed hastily, before she could find anything else to fuss over. She pulled the blankets back up, and he scrunched right down, until everything below his nose was covered.  
  
“Comfy?” she asked.  
  
“Hm.” He gave a little nod. Then his eyes shifted up, looking at the headboard.  
  
“Yeah,” she said. “Look, it’s a really, really long story. I’ll … tell you some other time.”  
  
She wanted to hug him and tell him everything was all right. But she limited herself to patting his shoulder through the quilt, and brushing her lips against an exposed patch of cheek. “G’night.”  
  
“G’night, Rose,” he said, sleepily.  
  
She walked around the bed, slid into her side, and turned out the light. It felt so good to be clean and warm and off her feet, nothing to do but listen to the sound of rain outside and the sound of their breathing. It was even a comfort, in a small way, to be back in her own bed. And she’d always hated this bed.  
  
But she wasn’t alone in it any more. He was there, the length of an outflung arm away in the darkness. She could almost feel his presence. No, wait, she  _could_  feel him. The residues of strange energies still lingering in his body, the way time bent ever-so-slightly around him, like there was far more to him than his mere physical body.  
  
She smiled, just a little, and closed her eyes.  
  
“Rose?” came a voice out of the dark.  
  
“Yeah?” she mumbled.  
  
“What d’you think hatches from the black egg? Really?”  
  
He didn’t sound terribly anxious, so she took a moment to think it over. “Don’t know, really. S’pose it could be anyfing. But I’d think if a phoenix laid it, it’d have to be at least half phoenix itself. I mean, be weird if it was a canary.”  
  
“Hadn’t thought of it like that,” he mused. “Guess you’ll have to wait an’ see if I start singing, or burst into flames. Don’t think I’ve ever spontaneously combusted before …”  
  
“Well, you ain’t gonna start by doin’ it in the house! Take it outside!”  
  
“All right, all right, no need t’go getting' all excited …”  
  
“You ain’t seen excited. Wait till you get scorch-marks on my mum’s carpets.”  
  
“Wouldn’t dare. Not like I can regenerate, now …”  
  
He trailed off, and Rose was beginning to fall asleep before he spoke again.  
  
“Rose?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I’m tired, Rose. I’m just so tired.”  
  
“Go to sleep, sweetheart. It’ll be better in the morning.”  
  
“It doesn’t  _feel_  like falling asleep. It feels like passing out. Like drowning. Is it supposed to feel like this for humans? Like all your thoughts’re comin’ unraveled?”  
  
She realized she didn’t know how Time Lords slept. The Doctor would sometimes talk about going to bed, but she wondered now if that had been for show, something he said so she wouldn’t feel obliged to stay up and keep him company. He’d always still been puttering about with something when she went off to her own room, and always already up when she woke.  
  
Even when she’d seen him sleep (or pretend to sleep) he’d looked more like he was just resting his eyes.  
  
“Just let it happen,” she told him. “Just relax. Let it all drift away.”  
  
She felt him fidgeting on his side of the mattress. “I think I’m having trouble metabolizing the caffeine from the tea. Never happened in my old body. Oh, isn’t  _this_  wizard.”  
  
“You won’t fall asleep if you keep talking.”  
  
“Not sure I want to fall asleep.”  
  
“Well,  _I_  do.”  
  
“Oh,” he said. Then, catching on, “Oh! Sorry. Right.”  
  
“G’night.”  
  
“G’night, Rose.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Rose …”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“D’you ever worry you're not gonna wake up?”  
  
She thought. “No. Never.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Here.” She reached out into the darkness. “Take my hand. There. Now neither of us is goin’ anywhere.”  
  
His human-warm hand gripped hers like a lifeline, and he fell silent. But now she found she was the one who couldn’t sleep. Now she’d stopped moving, now she had no distractions, and all she could think of was the Doctor. Cos who was gonna hold  _his_  hand now? He was gonna lose Donna, and he’d be alone.  
  
She’d left him alone. She’d promised she’d stay with him forever, and she left him alone. How could she do that? And how could she ever be happy here, when he was out there, and …  
  
This doctor must still be able to see in the dark more clearly than a human. She thought she’d managed to cry silently, or at least softly enough to be lost in the sound of rain, but he suddenly spoke her name and shifted closer, reaching out to brush the tears from her cheeks.  
  
“Sorry,” she sniffed. “It ain’t … it ain’t for me. Cos I got you, but … what about him? I just … I just left him. What’s he gonna do now?”  
  
“Rose,” sighed the man beside her. And then, in a voice that was subtly different even though it was the same, “Rose.”  
  
The deep compassion remained, now joined with a reservoir of calm. Though just as soft, there was a power in it that had been absent before. A sense of great age. He seemed to be speaking to her both from very far away, and directly into her ear.  
  
It was the Doctor. Not speaking to her from across the universes, because the walls were closed now, but from within the new doctor, some remnant summoned up from deep within him to comfort her. One last time.  
  
“Do you know why I hate to say goodbyes, Rose?” he asked. And his voice, though barely a whisper, echoed with conviction.  
  
 **22\. Elsewhere–Goodbyes**  
  
 _Do you know why I hate to say goodbyes, Rose? It’s because I want to remember people as they are. When they say goodbye, they become so sad, trying too hard, trying to make it count. And that’s not them. I don’t want to remember you like that. Not heartbroken, not asking me to stay when I can’t. I couldn’t live with that. That’s not the memory I want to carry with me for the next thousand years._  
  
 _I want to remember seeing you with your arms around me, kissing me, because I’ve finally been able to say those three little words you so need to hear._  
  
 _I want to remember you happy._  
  
 _And when I start to miss you, I’ll be able to bear it, because I’ll close my eyes and I’ll see that image and know that in some universe, somewhere out there, we’re still together. Living our lives. The Doctor and Rose, in the TARDIS, forever._  
  
 _Someday I’ll regenerate, and though the memories won’t fade, the pain will recede–like something that happened in another life. That’s what regeneration is for, after all. To heal what can’t be healed._    
  
 _And what I’ve learned from you will become part of that new life. So that someday, when I come to care for someone new and finally learn how to tell them, it will be because I knew you._  
  
 _As time goes by, I’ll think of you less and less. I will never forget you, not ever, but your memory will sleep in my mind and I’ll go for months and years without thinking your name. That’s the way it is with Time Lords, it’s how we live with immortality._  
  
 _But part of you will be with me forever. And there will be gray, rainy days, a thousand years from now, when I’ll see something that reminds me of you without realizing it, and I’ll smile without quite knowing why. And it will be like the sun has suddenly broken through the clouds, like a moment of peace in the midst of a storm. And all my world will be that little bit brighter. Because you were in it._  
  
 **23\. Now–Forever**    
  
Tears were pouring down her face, now. She fought against sobs, choking on them.  
  
“Rose?” asked the doctor, and his voice was somehow smaller, wearier than ever from the effort. Human.  
  
She’d never speak to him again like that, she knew. Whatever remnant of the Doctor that had been, whatever it had cost the doctor to summon him up, he couldn’t do it again. The Doctor would fade from him, or (maybe) merge with the new man he’d become, until there was no separating them.  
  
But that was all right, now.  
  
She reached blindly for the doctor, and they clung to each other in the dark, and he stroked her hair and laid soft kisses on her forehead as she gave in at last, great wracking sobs shaking her body.  
  
It hurt. It hurt so badly. But the doctor had eased her grief, turned it into something sweet enough not to poison her, something she could let herself feel without it destroying her.  
  
Something that would heal.  
  
She missed her Doctor terribly. She couldn’t quite imagine that would ever change. But as long as she knew he was all right, she could live with that.  
  
She imagined her life with that Doctor, all the times and places they could have gone, all the adventures they could have had. Would she have seen him regenerate again, grieved the old and rejoiced in the new? Would she have grown old, or died young, or gone down some stranger path she couldn’t even imagine?  
  
She turned these thoughts over, held them all in her mind. A universe of possibilities. And then she put them away, one at a time, and turned her back on that universe.  
  
And turned to face another.  
  
Eventually, her tears ran their course, and she lay with her head on the doctor’s shoulder, listening to the lonely sound of a heart beating alone in his body. Human. And she was human again, at last, no longer a pillar of salt.  
  
“Rose?” he said again. “Rose, are you all right?”  
  
She lifted her head and kissed his cheek. It was damp and tasted of tears, and she wasn’t sure if they were hers or his.  
  
“Course I’m all right,” she said. “I’m with the man I love.”  
  
 **The End  
**


End file.
